


Completely Unexpected

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Almost Naked Sherlock, BAMF Molly, Background Case, Case Fic, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Flustered Molly, It's For a Case, POV Molly, POV Molly Hooper, Post-Case, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Smart Molly, Talking, Undercover Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is killing off members of Sherlock’s homeless network, and Sherlock’s gone undercover to discover the killer. He’s left samples for Molly to run, leaving her a specific way to contact him with the results, but when she’s unable to and a life is at stake she takes matters into her own hands to save a life. When Sherlock confronts her later that evening she expects things to go one way but they end up going in quite a different direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completely Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaybeItsJustMyType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeItsJustMyType/gifts), [elennemigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennemigo/gifts).



> And I'm kind of on a roll for the non-canon prompts for Day 3 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week on Tumblr! This was was inspired by a prompt from **MaybeItsJustMyType** for " _Molly solves the case and Sherlock is miffed_ " with non-established Sherlolly. When I put up all my unwritten Sherlolly prompts for the Sherlolly Fic Acronym thing back in November, **elennemigo** was the one who claimed this one. I'm so sorry to make you guys wait, and I hope you enjoy it now!

“You certainly do smell ripe,” Molly said, wrinkling her nose as Sherlock made his way into her morgue. He must have been undercover; he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in at least three days, he had on worn and tattered clothes that she knew he would never choose to wear in a million years and the smell emanating him made it seem as if he’d been sleeping in a flophouse or worse, the sewer system. He took another step closer but she moved around the empty supply tray and then took a few extra steps back. “That’s close enough.”

Sherlock dropped a soiled bag on the pristine stainless steel tray and looked at her. “I need all the tests you can possibly run on these samples run,” he said.

“Do I want to know what kind of samples they are?” she asked warily.

“Environmental, chemical, biological,” he said with a slight shrug.

She felt slightly ill at the mention of biological samples. She was not looking forward to this. “Exactly what kind of case is this?” she asked, taking a hesitant step forward.

He noted her hesitancy and took a step back. “Someone is killing off members of my homeless network. Wiggins asked me to look into it. I take matters like this very personally, and I’m going to find the killer and make him pay.” She took another step closer and he took another step back. "I promise I will do nothing illegal, but he might be a bit mangled before he’s dropped off to Gavin tied up in a bright red bow.”

“So you’re convinced the perpetrator is a male?” she asked as she got closer.

“The clues I’ve seen and what I’ve deduced so far point to that as the logical conclusion,” he said with a nod.

“Well, then I’ll rush these tests and get you these results as quickly as I can,” she said, getting to the sack. Then she paused. “Do you have your mobile on you?”

He shook his head. “Too conspicuous when I’m trying to blend in. My network trusts me but the others don’t. I’m busking at Hyde Park, near Speaker’s Corner. You can find me there when the weather’s good. If you have good results, bring food from The Mayfair Chippy. Bad news, coffee from Pret A Manger.”

She tilted her head. “For you or for me?”

“Me, obviously.”

“All right,” she said. He turned and left at that, and she reached over and cautiously opened the bag. The assault of smells that came out of it nearly knocked her over and she took a step back before moving aside and then going for the small jar of Vicks and dabbing her finger in it, wiping some under her nose. Then she went back to the bag, picked it up by touching as little of it as possible, held it as far in front of her as she could, and headed for the path lab.

Sherlock owed her _big time._

**\---**

She looked over the results once, then twice, then a third time. Then she went over it a fourth time for good measure. There was absolutely no way they could be true if Sherlock’s theory that a man was committing the crimes were true.

But if a _woman_ was committing the crimes was the case…well then, that was another matter.

She looked out the window at the pouring rain. There was no way Sherlock would be at Hyde Park, not in this dismal weather. And the rain wasn’t supposed to let up for hours, if not for the entire rest of the day and well into the evening. And with all of the evidence Sherlock had collected, plus what she had managed to glean from phone calls to Greg and Sally, she had managed to put together a nice tidy little timeline of the case.

And if her hunch was right, before the storm tonight passed, there was going to be another murder.

And if she was _doubly_ right, the intended victim was going to be Wiggins.

She bit her lip. She wasn’t overly fond of the man, but he wasn’t an altogether bad bloke since he had cleaned up his act, gotten off the drugs and been taken under Sherlock’s wing as an assistant of sorts. He had one foot out off the streets and one foot on them still, and it was that fact that made him the most likely target. Every other victim had tried to make a life for themselves off the streets. They’d been making small steps, but the killer had been growing bolder, going after people who had been getting closer to being fully off the street. Wiggins was almost no longer homeless. Killing him would be a coup.

She really _should_ tell Sherlock; this woman was going after people that he had a vested interest in, and he had a right to a limited form of retribution. But if she was right, a man’s life was at stake, and she could save it. And, well, she didn’t know how to reach Sherlock, and at the moment she _could_ reach Wiggins and she _did_ have the Detective Inspector and the Detective Sergeant in charge of this case on speed dial.

So that was that.

She pulled out her mobile and pulled up Greg’s contact. “Greg? Yes, it’s me. Look, I cracked your case. It’s Bill Wiggins. He’s in danger…”

**\---**

The pounding at her door nearly six hours later startled her, but it wasn’t wholly unexpected.

Wiggins had been surprised but eager to help. After all, he was the apprentice assistant to a consulting detective. Catching criminals was what he did now. They set up a trap and caught the killer and Molly had been there to watch her be hauled off to jail. It was very rare that she was the one to crack the case, and it had filled her with a sense of pride to know that not only had she solved the case mostly on her own but she’d saved a life in the process.

She was just dreading the aftermath of _just_ how miffed Sherlock was going to be.

She supposed she was about to find out now.

She opened the door and saw a sopping wet Sherlock standing there, dripping water on her doorstep. “You should have told me,” he said, and it was quite obvious he was trying to keep his temper in check.

“There was no way you’d be busking at Hyde Park in this weather, and you gave me no other way to get a hold of you,” she said, crossing her arms. She’d be damned if she’d allow him to intimidate her. “And Wiggins might be dead now if I didn’t act quickly, did you consider that? If I’d gone to you to let you have your revenge he could be in a pool of blood right now. Do you want that on your conscience? I certainly don’t want it on mine.”

He had the decency to look abashed at that. “No,” he said.

“I thought not,” she replied. She moved out of the doorway. “Come in. You look like a drowned rat.” He moved into her home. At least being in the rain had gotten the smell lessened. She looked at him and shook her head, gesturing to what he was wearing. “You look a mess. I have some of Tom’s old clothing still. Go take a shower and I’ll get it for you. It’s just a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, but it’s probably better than…that. And I have a pack of disposable razors in my medicine cabinet, if you want to tackle that growth on your face. Use as many as you need to.”

He gave her a grateful look. “You are a godsend, Molly. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Flounder, probably,” she said, though she gave him a small smile as she said it. She turned him around and gave him a shove towards her loo. “Go on. I was about to make supper. I’ll make sure there’s enough for you, too, and tea as well.”

He moved away and then she went towards the kitchen, going back to making her meal. It had been fettuccine alfredo, so she already knew there would be enough. She added a bag of frozen broccoli to a pot of water as well to stretch it out, and then twenty minutes after she sent him to the shower she started to set things up for tea. Somehow everything managed to finish just around the time he came out, towel wrapped around his waist. She swallowed slightly at the sight of him, wet and clean shaven and nearly naked. “Do you have Tom’s old clothing?”

“Um…yes,” she said with a nod, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Let me go get them. Do you need anything else?”

“My undergarments are soaking wet, but I suppose I can go one evening without any,” he said with a slight shrug.

“I can put them in the dryer,” she said, turning red at the ears. She prayed she didn’t turn red at the cheeks as well. Oh Lord, that would be just what she needed. 

“Thank you,” he said.

She hurried into her bedroom and went to her closet for the box of Tom’s things she kept trying to give back to him. He wasn’t bothering to answer her calls so she’d given up trying. She fished around and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and took them to Sherlock, who had gone back to the loo and retrieved his pants. Boxer briefs, just as she’d imagined he’d wear. They traded clothing and she went to the kitchen and quickly tossed the pants in the dryer and turned it on. She looked at her hands for a moment in shock, realizing she’d actually handled Sherlock’s undergarments, before going back to their meal. By the time she got it all to the table he’d emerged fully dressed, though barefoot, and looked around. “Feel free to serve yourself,” she said, gesturing to the table.

He nodded and then sat down in front of a plate. He reached over and served himself some of the pasta, with some of the broccoli on the side, and began to eat. From the way he was wolfing it down she realized he had taken his undercover gig very seriously. She almost wished she had added chicken to the meal. He was well into his second serving before he spoke. “Thank you for solving the case,” he said. “I am sorry I was snippy when I banged at your door.”

“I would have alerted you if I could have,” she said, twirling some of her pasta on her fork before spearing some broccoli. “There just wasn’t enough time.”

“You were right to save Wiggins’s life,” he said. “That is not something I would want on my conscience if I could help it. I have enough deaths on my conscience.”

She nodded. “Then I’m glad I could help.” She lapsed into silence for a moment. “You know, if you need my help again, I’ll be glad to give it. I mean, in any way. Lab work, giving you first crack at autopsy results, doing undercover work…whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod.” He prepared to take a bite and then he paused. “Would you…be willing to do something that wasn’t related to a case, perchance?”

“Like what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. 

“Perhaps accompany me to the dinner that John and Mary are having this weekend, as my…date,” he said. “I know they asked you to go as well, but I had thought we could go together. If you don’t want to, I understand, but—”

She set down her fork and set one of her hands on his hand that was on the table, giving him a warm smile. “I would love to, Sherlock,” she said. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”

He gave her a small smile in return. “Then I will pick you up here at six thirty?”

She nodded. “Six thirty is fine.”

“Good,” he said, his smile growing a little wider, a little brighter, and she felt hers grow in kind. This wasn’t quite how she had expected her evening to end, but in all honesty, she quite preferred this to her expectations.


End file.
